Releasing the Past, Prompting the Future
by Tansoku
Summary: *On Hold* A few years have passed since Voyager's return to the Alpha Quadrant and the suppression of Shinzon. The Federation flourishes with new technology, but old enemies are on the rise again, both Borg and Romulan. The Queen longs for Locutus.
1. Chapter 1

Hi everybody.

I probably do not need to clarify this, but I do not own Star Trek. Any characters that I do create are of my own creation and any similarities are purely coincidental. Otherwise everything else belongs to those hard working people who have crafted the fine series which we know to be as Star Trek.

This fanfiction takes place a few years after Voyager has returned home to the Alpha Quadrant and will involve all Star Trek sagas, although will have a strong emphasis on The Next Generation and Voyager.

Enjoy my work? Please review it and let me know your thoughts. It tends to speed up the writing process to know that someone out there is eagerly waiting for the next Chapter to come out.

Thanks!

--

Starfleet Medical – 23:46

"Download complete," the female computer voice chimed.

Doctor Beverly Crusher sighed softly, fingers dancing across her desktop computer in the same familiar sequence. It had been two months since she had left the Enterprise-E and returned to Earth as Director of Starfleet Medical. In a way, she both adored the position and hated it at the same time. It was a lot more predictable, which was something that Beverly liked. No imminent Borg invasions, no more losing power to her Sickbay when Enterprise took a hit from some angry enemy species, and certainly no more insane Romulan-Human praetors who looked identical the man she once loved years ago.

No. Now there was paperwork to do. Mountains of medical theories to analyze and approve or usher back to the petri dish. Positions to assign and delegate. Research to conduct. Yes, now she could complete her work in peace. Or so it seemed.

And yet she missed the unpredictable nature of being Chief Medical Officer of the flagship of the Federation. She missed her friends. Her family. The late night Poker matches between the senior staff.

"There's nothing I can do about that now," she told herself aloud. Now there was Lieutenant Commander Jenson's theory of a vaccine that enhanced cell membranes, increasing their resistance to Borg nanoprobes.

Beverly sighed. The Borg were the last thing she wanted to think about now. She would deal with this later.

"Computer. Activate security protocol Crusher-4 and shut down the lights when I'm gone."

"Acknowledged."

With a quick tap, the glass like screen on her desk turned transparent, the data vanishing safe and sound until tomorrow. Pulling her coat from the wrack, she left her office and headed down the corridor. It was a tenderly quiet evening. The administrative wing of the building was usually dead after hours. A majority of the doctors and nurses had gone home for the night, leaving only emergency personnel to their duties.

She entered the coordinates of her apartment complex into one of the dozen suborbital shuttles that waited in the buildings docking area. How beautiful San Francisco was at night. She closed her eyes and let herself rest against the padded bench of the shuttle.

No more than five minutes into her flight, a prominent beeping shot through the shuttle's main console.

"Incoming transmission. Priority One - Starfleet Command."

The voice jolted her previously half-dazed senses with a start. Had she imagined it?

A pause. "Go ahead."

The face of the haggard Admiral Paris appeared on the screen. He looked tired and panicked, his round head beaded with sweat and his brow furrowed with determination and focus that rivaled the way Worf looked all the time. Snapping instantly to full alert with her deep blue eyes penetrating into his, she fell back into rank. "Admiral, this is certainly unexpected. What seems to be the problem?"

"I'm afraid I have some bad news. It's Captain Picard. We've just received word from Commander Worf on the Enterprise-E. We are rather short of details at the moment, but all I can tell you is that," he paused, looking solemn. "... well, it appears as though we missed something after Wolf 359, or some other encounter with the Borg since then. Perhaps something after your encounter with Cochrane on Earth. Something, somehow has reasserted itself in Jean-Luc's body."

She didn't need to hear another word. Trying to shrug off the weight of the day and to maintain the professionalism of her face, Beverly knew her voice was shaking. "Where is he, Admiral?"

"The Enterprise is on its way to Earth from an away mission near the Klingon border. I think you'd better get ready for the worst. "

"Understood, Admiral." Fear was beginning to blossom inside of her.

"We've also informed Professor Annika Hansen of this matter. Her experience with the Borg might prove insightful. Unfortunately Voyager's EMH is unavailable. We're giving you everything we have. Admiral Janeway was also in the area when we received the news and will be arriving shortly."

Seven of Nine. The former Borg drone, assimilated as a human at a very young age. She had read the debriefing report that Starfleet had conducted on her. And of course, the legendary Captain Janeway who brought her crew home from the Delta Quadrant, now an Admiral whose lectures on the Delta Quadrant and its wonders Beverly had frequented as an observer at Starfleet Academy.

"I'll appreciate the insight, Admiral. Tell Worf that he'd best hurry. We need to get Jean-Luc in stasis so we can stop whatever is happening to him."

--

Paris, France, Earth. 06:36pm.

Smoke and steam wafted through the Paris/Torres household as strongly scented exotic herbs and spices released their fragrant aroma about the room from the smoldering wok. In truth, B'Elanna Torres preferred to leave all the cooking in the house up to the trusty household replicators, but somehow it just didn't seem satisfying anymore. She had to do something with her hands or else she'd go crazy.

"What I wouldn't do for a warp core breach right about now," she mumbled hotly, stirring the little awkwardly cut up pieces of meat in with the vegetables as they all mingled with a rich, almost blood red sauce.

Tom must have heard her from the living room. "What was that, honey!?"

"Nothing!" She yelled back. "We need to kidnap Neelix back from the Delta Quadrant - or something - I have no idea if this is going to taste any good or not."

Tom Paris looked up from the ancient wall-mounted television, feet up on the table as he lounged comfortably back in his chair. "Uh huh, I'm sure whatever you make is going to taste just fine. Have you heard from our daughter recently?"

"Fast asleep. Those Mok'bara classes. I swear, you have a daughter who's barely walking, even talking, and all she wants to do with her life is Klingon martial arts. Not exactly what I had in mind." Her husband had gotten out of his chair, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "Guess she gets her determination from her mother, hmm?"

B'Elanna sighed, relaxing in her lover's arms. "I don't know, Tom. You know how I feel about these things," she said, pausing a moment to remember the incident on Voyager where she had modified the Doctor's program to remove the Klingon DNA from her then unborn child. "You're right," she smiled broadly, lifting her tone, "We should let her do what she wants."

Grinning, Tom leaned forward, nibbling her ear gently. Barely whispering, he whispered softly in her ear. "Your creation is blackening like a burnt out power relay."

"Is it? Oh! Damn!"

In truth, B'Elanna could have been doing anything she wanted than simply stay at home. Hardly a day had gone by since Voyager's return from the Delta Quadrant before she found herself swarmed by engineers at Starfleet Command, inventors from Starfleet Intelligence, as well as several other Federation-based businesses that were interested in her modifications to Voyager. She had gone to a handful of interviews before getting frustrated with all the attention, shutting herself away from everything and asking anyone else who called to stop. Right now, all she cared about was staying at home with her husband and daughter. Living the quiet life.

Tom, on the other hand, could never stay on the ground for very long, and was soon offered a position at Starfleet Command as a Flight Instructor and test pilot after a more than flattering report from Admiral Janeway, who also saw to any of the remaining criminal charges on his file pardoned.

It was an ideal life and she really could not have asked for anything else to happen. And yet, she still felt like a caged bird.

--

There simply wasn't enough time.

It took a good majority of her focus to keep her hands from shaking as she slipped the tube of neurolytic pathogen into a hypospray. It would slow down any Borg activity running through his body without damaging his organic functions. Beverly only hoped it would be enough. In her mind she told herself to remain calm, as she did with most of her patients.

Picard's mind swam with the voices of the Borg Collective. They were here, somewhere close by. In the Alpha Quadrant. Despite his attempts to move or speak, his body did not listen. He could only lie on the biobed in the Enterprise-E's sickbay as an unfamiliar nurse waved a tricorder in his face. There was no more she or anyone on the Enterprise could do to help him now. He felt like a corpse that was slowly beginning to decompose. The heat from his body beginning to fade - his hands and feet becoming cold.

He could hear the screams of the confused minds of newly assimilated drones, as if they had all been crowded into a cramped room. Above them sang the siren song of the Collective with its precise commands and orders. His muscles cramped, but the pain was mild. And then suddenly from nowhere came a more intense pain, a terrible stabbing pain as he felt the skin on his chest rip and the audible buzz of a Borg implant as it ripped through his uniform. Where his throat churned and his lips parted to scream, only a rasp escaped as the frantic nurse pressed another hypospray against his neck. Sickbay vanished from his eyes as Jean-Luc Picard felt his body spread into pieces in the familiar grasp of a transporter.

The blinking blue lights and the hum of her tricorder were the only sounds in the surgical bay as Beverly conducted her seventh scan. Her Starfleet uniform had been replaced with the heavy maroon shroud of a surgeon, as had the uniforms of her five nurses.

"I'm detecting three Borg implants forming in his body. One at the base of his spine, another attached to the aorta, and another at the base of his neck. Neurolytic pathogens have so far been effective in slowing formation and flow of nanoprobes in his system; however I do not know how long it will be until they adapt."

The doors to the surgical bay opened as another pair of figures arrived. With a sideways glance, Beverly Crusher recognized them as Admiral Janeway and Seven of Nine. The Admiral stayed far back, behind the forcefield, adorned in a bright gray and black Starfleet uniform, her dark brown hair pinned up behind her in a loose bun. Seven of Nine looked nearly identical to the images that Crusher had seen in the images taken during the former drone's debriefing with Starfleet Command, still sporting a form-fitting deep brown-colored cat suit, neutral expression, and simple unexpressed blonde hair.

"It's good to see you. I could use your help figuring out what the hell is going on,' Beverly said, slightly more hotly than she intended. Seven raised a brow at her before nodding, her eyes turning to the console on the other side of the forcefield.

Janeway stepped forward. "I thought you removed all the Borg technology from his body."

Even if the Admiral meant no offense, Janeway's critique hit a nerve. Perhaps she really had missed something when Locutus once again became Jean-Luc Picard. No, she couldn't have. "I **did**, Admiral. There has been absolutely nothing wrong with him in his medical records from the Enterprise since then that would relate to this. I've managed to disable the new Borg implants, only to see them reactivate themselves a few seconds later."

She felt helpless. A complete loss. She had removed Borg implants from her former Captain before, even dozens of crew after the encounter with the Borg after the Enterprise's journey through time, but these were different somehow. Beforehand, with a bit of tinkering, she could easily heal partially assimilated crew members, but those methods were completely ineffective now.

Beverly looked up from her tricorder at Seven of Nine and the Admiral across the forcefield. Janeway was hovering over Seven's shoulder, whose face seemed to radiate a look of disgust and confusion.

"These implants are... outdated."

Janeway raised a brow. "Outdated?"

"Yes. The Borg no longer install these implants on new drones, but have integrated their functions into other hardware. The nanoprobes are also of an older generation. I will attempt to deactivate them," Seven looked up and walked towards the arch that blocked the way into the surgical bay with a gleaming blue forcefield. "I will need access to the surgical bay to proceed."

Beverly looked up, her deep blue eyes fixed on the former Borg drone. She had read in the debriefing that Seven of Nine was extremely forward, almost inconsiderate, in nature, but she really she had no other alternative at this point and Jean-Luc's life may have been at stake "Computer, deactivate quarantine field."

The forcefield vanished with a brief buzzing sound as Seven quickly walked in. Without another word, she raised an ivory fist and a pair of metallic tubules pierced through the flesh just behind her knuckles and into the Borg implant jutting from the Starfleet captain's flesh. Beverly stared, looking back up to the Admiral. Lowering her tricorder, she focused her eyes. "I hope she knows what she's doing..."

Seven of Nine's eyes darted back in a chaotic swing of rapid eye movement, seemingly oblivious to the world around her.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi everyone.

If you're still here, you must still be reading, so for that you get an instant thank you.

To anyone who might be worried about all these storylines branching away from each other, I'm going to be connecting them all together at some point. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy them for what they are.

Please read and review, as it helps keep me motivated into writing faster! Thanks!

- tsku

---

Somewhere. Time unknown.

_Locutus..._

Her voice was like liquid through his thoughts. Hardly audible yet piercingly clear and potent. It faded in and out through his thoughts, but was impossible to ignore at the same time.

Jean-Luc Picard ached, as if a thousand men had smashed a pair of cymbals together above his head while Data's _Ode to Spot_ looped repeatedly in his ears forever. The voice he heard, above all the others, was clear to him. It could only be **Her**. The one who brought order to chaos. The woman, if she could called such, who was the very core of the Borg Collective.

He found himself able to open his eyes, but he was most certainly no longer on the Enterprise. He recognized this chamber well. He remembered the elevated steel platform, a unique alcove found in possession of no other drone but her. He saw himself surrounded by the set of four metallic bars laced with sensors. He knew he stood upon the Queen's Throne, the platform where she would assemble herself into a mobile prosthetic body. He could not move, yet could manage to just turn his head around to see his surroundings.

Drones were everywhere, the majority of them standing dormant in their alcoves. A few wandered stoically, occasionally stopping before the glistening green consoles that lined the walls.

Picard frowned, his brow furrowed, peering about the room. "What is it you want?"

_"We were more than friends long ago. You and I. Do you not remember, Locutus?"_

"I assure you that we are not friends. I will ask you again. What is it you want?"

_"No. You are right. We were more than that. So much more."_

He tightened his lips in disgust, refusing to submit himself as the Queen's toy. He would bide his time and wait for her to make her move. Explain her motives.

_"Even if they're removed our gifts to you - taken away the precious armour we crafted for you, leaving your soft, vulnerable flesh behind," her voice echoed softly. "They cannot change who you really are, Locutus."_

And then it vanished. The Queen's chamber. Everything. And there was nothing more but the cold, inky blackness of his mind to keep him.

--

USS Titan.  
Alpha Quadrant. 02:04pm.

A light breeze blew through Deanna Troi's hair as she sat contently upon the white deckchair beneath the shifting willow tree above her, its long tendrils falling majestically around her as they shaded her from the sun's rays. She smiled pleasantly, watching her guest contently as she reached for her glass and took a sip of water, placing it back on the small wooden table in front of her when she was done.

Her guest was a slim male half Trill Human hybrid, clad in the dark gray uniform of a Starfleet ensign. His blonde hair had been cut short and sharply - very recently in fact - and Deanna didn't think it suited him. His angelic face twisted and contorted with discomfort, and she didn't need her empathic powers to know what was wrong either.

"All right, Derek. Did you try what I suggested?"

He looked down at the blades of lush green grass, touched with the drew of a summer's morning. Twiddling his thumbs, he sighed. "No."

"And why not?"

Another sigh. He fell back into the deckchair, gazing up through the willow's drape into the rich blue sky. "I just don't think he's that into me, that's all. I mean, we spend lots of time together and all, but I just think he thinks our relationship is just something professional and he's missing my moves all together."

Deanna reached a hand for her glass again and took another sip, scrolling down her notes on her PADD with the other. "Well, you won't ever know until you find out, won't you?" She replaced the glass back on table. "How do you feel about that then?"

His blue eyes shut tightly. "I miss him. It's hard to be away from him. I'm almost at the point where I just want to run into the nearest holodeck and, well, you know..."

Her empathic senses picked up the familiar emotion of lust and longing emanate from the young Trill's mind. "It's not uncommon, you know, but I think it would be better for you on the long term to get this out of your system in the real world, Derek. You obviously care very deeply for him, but you aren't going to get anywhere unless you manage to cope with these emotions or if you get them of your system. The Federation let go of prejudices towards these kinds of relationships hundreds of years ago."

"I guess you're right. Well, I'll be wanted in Engineering. Same time next week?"

"Of course," Deanna beamed, standing up from her deckchair and looking up at the sky. "Computer. End program."

The landscape that seemed so real moments ago faded into the familiar multi-coloured platform of the holodeck. The Ensign gave her a wave and left the holodeck in a brisk walk.

As Titan's diplomatic officer and head counselor, Deanna had finished all her tasks today. She had met with a dozen crew members, listening and advising to various issues, the last being Ensign Derek Zan. She wasn't tired, but she was hungry, and thus decided to go the ship's lounge for a bowl of her favorite chocolate ice cream before returning to her quarters. She had barely walked off the turbolift when her feet suddenly buckled beneath her, the bulkheads of deck four shaking and lights flashing as she felt her body hit the wall hard.

"All hands standby battle stations!"

She heard her husband's voice echo across the comm. It was mildly unsettling at first because until now it had always been Captain Picard's voice she heard. A mild panic jostled her mind as she sprinted down the hallway and found herself on the Bridge a few moments later, staring through the view screen at an ominous Borg cube sitting dormant on the outskirts of a misted purple nebula.

Titan's Tactical Officer was Commander Tuvok, a dark-skinned and highly disciplined Vulcan who had also been a part of the infamous USS Voyager crew. His eyes pierced through his tactical console, fingertips gliding across buttons entering commands.

"The cube appears to be ignoring us. Sensors indicate approximately 71,000 lifesigns aboard. All Borg. There are no other significant readings aside from the mild gravimetric surge we just encountered"

Deanna took her post next to her husband, Captain Will Riker, who was gazing sternly at the Cube through the view screen. "They're up to something. The Borg do not simply idle," Deanna noted.

"It would appear this would be the case," Tuvok said mildly, eyebrows raised slightly. Perhaps this was the Vulcan's way of showing he was just as confused as she was. "I am detecting minimal activity within the Cube; however sensors are unable to penetrate the interior sections."

Will's eyes narrowed as he leaned back into the Captain's chair, a sensation he still wasn't quite used to. "Helm, keep us out of weapon and transporter range. Use the gravity storm to hide us from their sensors as well. I don't want them to perceive us as a threat."

"Aye, sir."

Even with her empathic powers, Deanna sensed anxiety from everyone on the bridge except Tuvok. Though it may have been inappropriate, she couldn't help but steal a glimpse at her husband from the corner of her eye. "What will we do now, Captain?"

Will Riker sighed. "We wait."

--

Starfleet Medical : San Francisco : North American Continent  
Earth - 7:02am

Kathryn Janeway had a headache. It had been a chaotic morning to say the least, and there was nothing she wanted more than to sit down somewhere quiet with a tall, steaming mug of black coffee.

Seven of Nine turned toward her and Dr. Crusher, her eyes fixed on each of them in a stoic stare. For a moment, Beverly thought she was about to be judged by the Devil with Seven of Nine's intensity. Her movements reminded her of clockwork. "I have managed to disable the Borg hardware in his body, however I would recommend that the Doctor remove the implants immediately."

Beverly stepped forward, raising her tricorder over the implant jutting out of Picard's neck. Seven's words were true. The implant was unpowered and the nanoprobes in his body had been destroyed as far as her equipment could detect. Whatever Seven had did, it seemed to have worked. "I was about to get right on it," she reached for her laser scalpel.

"The Doctor from Voyager is more familiar with Borg technology. He would be a better candidate for this procedure."

Beverly flinched as Seven's words rang like salt in an old wound.

Janeway pressed a hand against her forehead. "Seven, I'm afraid the Doctor is doing something else right now. Doctor Crusher has had extensive experience with Borg, just as we have."

"May that be the case, she obviously overlooked something in her previous attempts. We have traveled through Borg space. Dealt with the Borg first hand."

Beverly bit her lip, trying to force a smile as this woman – a stranger – critiqued her capabilities as the Director of Starfleet Medical and as an experienced physician aboard the Enterprise. Gesturing to Janeway, she made a motion towards the door. "Thank you very much for your aid, Admiral. I will keep you informed, however I must ask the two of you to leave. I must perform this surgery immediately, though you are both welcome to observe. On the other side of the forcefield."

Seven of Nine tilted her head, her expression depicting arrogance and confusion. Shaking her head, Janeway sighed loudly. "Enough. Both of you. I'm sorry, Doctor Crusher. Seven, stay here – in case anything happens. Keep me informed, Doctor."

And with that said, the Admiral made her way to the closest replicator.

A wave of relief hit her when she found several of them in the central promenade. A gathering place of sorts for visitors and staff who needed a break. A brilliant skylight was mounted atop the chamber, casting the dawn's warm blanket of orange light across the sterile whiteness of it all. She wasn't alone either, and to avoid confrontation with anyone between her and her coffee she found a small table in one of the corners of the chamber. Raising the mug to her lips and sipping the bitter brew, Janeway found herself instantly comforted, despite some slightly acidic undertones that were only to be expected of any kind of hospital food.

"Janeway? Kathyrn Janeway?"

Janeway released a mental sigh, the subtle pangs of her headache creeping down her neck as she prepared herself for another round of public relations and upholding the prestige that her new rank of Admiral held. Hiding the stress from her face, she looked up with as warm as a smile as she could muster. Standing before her was a Bajoran woman, adorned in the unexpressed regalia of a Starfleet Academy cadet. Judging from the lack of adornments, she might have been in her first year. "That's me. What can I do for you, Cadet?"

The Bajoran woman had a cool, uneasy air about herself. Her scalp was little more than black stubble, mercilessly shaved down to the follicle. Her deep green eyes pierced into Janeway like those of an executioner, and Janeway made a mental note that whoever this woman was would make a fine Security officer someday. Even so, her presence was still unnerving.

"My name is Kristie Thorne. I merely wanted to introduce myself to you. You probably have no idea who I am, but that's fine. I can't expect a busy Admiral like you to remember everybody. I just wanted to say that I'll be attending your lecture on the Borg at Starfleet Academy next week. I look forward to it immensely."

Janeway narrowed her eyes and gripped the mug of her coffee. "Well, a pleasure to meet you then, Cadet. If you like, I can give you a crash course now if you like. Coffee? Can't say it's the best I ever had, but it's still coffee."

"No, Admiral. That won't be necessary. Thank you."

And without even being dismissed from her presence, Miss. Kristie Thorne turned her back on her and headed away in a brisk walk. In her mind, Janeway felt unsettled in this woman's presence. Perhaps it was what gave her an edge and prompted her mental association for the cadet to a career in Security. Either way, she let the matter go and finished her coffee, resisting the urge to replicate a second cup on the sole reasoning that it really wasn't good coffee after all.

---

Paris : France : North American Continent  
Earth - 6:32pm

Four year old Miral Paris gazed fiercely into the eyes of a towering Klingon male. Adorned in basic padding, she hardly felt intimidated by her opponents tarnished silver armour and hideous crooked teeth. The dusty ambiance of the stone-floored Klingon Martial Arts school only fueled her resolve and helped her plan her approach with a fluidic grace. The Klingon merely gave her a toothy grin.

"So then, the Federation is sending children to the battlefield now? How pathetic! I shall break you, little girl, and then you shall attend my targs and pour my blood wine!"

But she wouldn't let him strike first. Stepping forward with her small muscular legs, immediately adapting an offensive stance, Miral slammed her open-faced palms into the Klingon's side. Prompting an "oof" from the Klingon warrior, he immediately struck back at her, raising his knee and clipping the young girl's chin with a blow that would have ordinarily broken all the bones in her small jaw. Leaving only a bruise in its wake thanks to the mercy of holodeck safety protocols, Miral felt herself leaving the ground from the blow, landing a few feet away from her opponent.

"Okay, that's enough. Computer - End Program."

Blinking in surprise and opening his lips in an attempt to roar, the Klingon male and the visage of the Klingon school disintegrated into nothingness, leaving the holodeck complex in its wake with B'Elanna Torres folding her arms in disapproval.

From the ground, Miral glared back at her mother. "I wasn't done, Mommy. I could have won."

"You could have been hurt, Miral."

The instance those words left her mouth, she immediately felt a sharp knife of deja vu strike her. The words of her overprotective father springing to memory. How he would always protect her and spew excuses for her for being different. In a way, her own daughter was no different.

Sighing slightly, grasping her daughter's hand in her own, she lifted her up from the ground and began to walk with her towards their residential district not far away. "You know I'm only saying this because I don't want you to get hurt, right?" She glanced down at the headstrong girl, who was glaring resentfully down the pathway. Silent treatment. B'Elanna sighed and shook her head.

Few were out this late at night, save for people walking their dogs or youth heading to the local pubs. France had only been minimally transformed by the shifts in technological advancement over the years. A cultural gem, her husband had called it. She shared his passion for the romanticism of it all, but there were times she missed the hustle and bustle of the cities. A woman ahead of them stood out from all the rest. She was adorned in a Federation uniform and the pips across her collar told B'Elanna that she was a Commander.

"B'Elanna Torres?" She was beautiful, with piercingly cool charcoal grey eyes and carmine lips against porcelain skin. She couldn't have been human.

Stepping in front of her daughter, who proceeded to angle herself around her mother's leg to peek, B'Elanna took a cautious approach. "Yes? Can I help you?"

And then it all went dark as B'Elanna felt her legs go limp and the gentle grasp of her daughter's hand fade from her own. The barely susceptible pressure of a hypospray pressed against her neck. The last image of the smirking Federation officer watching her as consciousness escaped her.


	3. Chapter 3

Hello all,

Thanks again to those who are still reading along. It's been a tiresome week for me.

Again, please do read and review if you are enjoying. It tends to encourage me to write faster oddly enough.

Just a quick fun fact: this story takes place BEFORE Before Dishonor. To be completely honest with you all, I enjoyed that book until they killed off a certain favorite character of mine. So blah!

Enjoy. :D

***

**Starfleet Medical : San Francisco : North American Continent  
Earth**

Jean-Luc Picard felt the sun. It felt warm and comforting against his skin. Like a blanket enveloping him on a cold day. His eyes were closed and he felt himself on the fringe of unconsciousness - like a dream he could wake up from at any moment in time. He wasn't sure he wanted to at first. He felt sore, but he could feel some kind of force at work inside his body that was thinning out the real pain. He opened his eyes.

The room around him was calm and quiet. He recognized it as an intensive care unit. A private room. Sterile, with simple decorations adorning the walls. A holoframe, depicting a field of flowers. An obscure sculpture on top of a cabinet. But still he felt the sun flowing over him from the great window to the right of the bed - an enormous transparent pane of glass overlooking the San Francisco bay. Tiny shuttles flew across the great blue sky like bees flying to their hive.

The calmness broke as the door into the room slid open with Beverly Crusher walking through it. He immediately suppressed a smile, reading her own expression that her presence here meant serious business. She smiled back at him anyway. A smile of relief as she approached the bed. "How are you feeling, Jean-Luc?" He was not sure what to say to her. A loss for words.

"I'm not sure. A little sore. I remember collapsing on the Enterprise. Borg voices."

"Never a good sign," she lifted a tricorder from her medical robe, lifting the small square device towards Picard's body. Her voice was thin. Almost ambivalent.

"I have to speak to Starfleet Command. If I'm hearing Borg, it means they're up to something. You know they are, Beverly," Picard sat up, bracing himself on his elbows, glancing at her quickly. "Where's the Enterprise?"

Beverly glanced over the tricorder readouts, her shoulders heavy with both exhaustion and worry about the circumstances at hand. With only a cup of tea fueling her since receiving Admiral Paris' message the night before, she felt as though she was going to collapse within the hour. "In orbit. Don't worry, Jean-Luc. Admiral Janeway will be on her way as soon as possible. Worf has control of things on the Enterprise, so all _**you**_ need to do is get some rest until the time comes."

But a sense of urgency had overtaken him, and even Beverly's gentle reassurance could not calm him. He felt himself questioning the moment of tranquility he had been feeling moments before, wondering where that sense of peace had gone. He blamed it as a side-effect of the analgesic that she had no doubt had coursing through his body. He looked back over at her, noticing the fatigue in her posture. Beverly's honey hued brown hair, often long and flowing like liquid silk, was now tangled and out of sorts. Deep creases underlined her eyes. It was only her tired smile that gave him any sense of hope in the matter.

Never good with emotions. Instead, he reached out and placed a hand atop her own. She closed her eyes a moment, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "I am sorry to do this to you, Beverly."

She shook her head and slowly pulled away from his touch. Old feelings bloomed in her heart. Her fondness for him. Her love. Her longing for her Sickbay on the Enterprise. "Get some rest, Jean-Luc," and with that she slowly walked backwards toward the door, vanishing from sight as she stepped through it.

---

**Starfleet Academy : San Francisco : North American Continent  
Earth**

Thumb pressing a miniature remote, Admiral Kathryn Janeway watched with faint amusement as a great three dimensional display cast a sickly green hue across the immense dome-shaped lecture hall. Starfleet cadets from a dozen different years watched in a grim awe as a series of grisly images soared across the display. A Borg drone rotated into view as battle footage of a cube launching a volley of shimmering green torpedoes played. All the while as Janeway paced through the hall.

"Most Borg drones are well equipped to face off against humanoid lifeforms. As I'm sure you're all well aware, any encounter with the Borg should be treated with the utmost caution. Setting your weapons to rotating modulations will only get you so far," she grinned slightly. "Believe me, we tried them all! Any questions?"

Her lecture over, the room returned to the normal luminescence. The Borg imagery fading.

A young cadet raised his hand and Janeway nodded at him. "Excuse me, ma'am, but reports from the USS Enterprise have stated that hand to hand combat has sometimes been effective in battles against the Borg. What's your take on this?"

Janeway returned to the podium, situated in the very center of chamber. She took a sip from a thermos of coffee she had brought along. "In my experience, most drones seem to be augmented with some kind of enhancement that make them deadly in close quarters. Keep in mind though," she said raising a hand, "that most drones aren't too bright when it comes to speed. They hit like sledgehammers, but if you can get around them, anyone can slam a phaser rifle across their head. Just watch your back."

The cadet smiled, nodded in understanding, and sat down.

Another cadet rose a hand. This one a younger woman. When she stood up, Janeway recognized her as the woman from Starfleet Medical -- Kristine Thorne. She didn't look any better than she had at the hospital. Janeway felt she had somewhat of a grumpy look to her. "I remember you from the other day," she tried to smile, but found it difficult when Thorne returned it with an icy glare.

"Admiral Janeway. Has the Borg Collective ever encountered any Dominion races? Jem'hadar, perhaps? Founders?"

Janeway remembered going over the reports from the Dominion war once Voyager returned from the Delta Quadrant. A few years scarce after the Dominion War. Considering her question, Janeway had no idea, but the images of the reptilian Jem'hadar or shifting Founders as Borg drones sent a curdling sense of worry down her spine. "Not that I'm aware, cadet. Jem'hadar themselves supposedly only live for a few years before dying, don't they?"

Thorne nodded before her glare evolved into a frown. "That sounds typical to me, Admiral. It's not like you would have had any experience with the Dominion anyway."

Janeway's expression shifted. She felt taken aback, but still she held her ground. Voyager had gone through its own share of hells in the Delta Quadrant."I beg your pardon, cadet. Am I missing something?"

"You missed everything, Admiral," Thorne's voice rose. "How convenient it must have been for you and your little ship to get tossed into the Delta Quadrant. You had so many opportunities to return to the Alpha Quadrant, but you put the lives of those pathetic Delta Quadrant races - strangers - about the Federation. You were out there, exploring new worlds in your own sanctuary while the Dominion raped half the quadrant! I'd best a thousand pieces of gold-pressed latinum you knew the Dominion War was going on, but instead you stayed there - in the Delta Quadrant - just so you could protect your sorry ass from fighting!"

Tears were beginning to glisten down Kristine Thorne's face as murmurs of discontent echoed across the lecture hall. Any expression of pity or concern that Janeway had for this woman had abruptly dried out and disappeared, but Thorne didn't phase as Janeway's eyes narrowed on her like a hawk to its prey.

"I don't know what your history is, cadet, or what you went through, but you have no right to question the command decisions I made in the Delta Quadrant. We took our losses just as anyone did, but we were alone out there. You cannot possibly begin to understand that, nor will I even begin to fathom what the rest of the Federation went through during the Dominion War," she lowered her voice to a dangerous tone. "Now, cadet, I believe you have spoken out of line and on the fringe of insubordination."

She took no satisfaction as her words cut into the cadet like a hot blade. Thorne's own expression flinched before she began to shuffle her way through the sea of cadets surrounding her. Once she was gone, Janeway's posture sagged as she gripped the podium tightly. Another headache coming on. "My apologies for that. Are there any other questions?"

Before any of the other cadets could raise their hand, she saw an ensign running to her side from one of the doorways.

"Captain Picard has regained consciousness, and you have an urgent message from a Thomas Paris, who claims to Admiral Paris' son. He says it's a matter of life and death."

And with that, the Admiral's headache got a whole lot worse.

---

**Location Unknown**

A sharp pain shot through her eyes as B'Elanna opened them. The world around her was muddled like an oiled canvas. Colours bled into one another. Green metals and white lights swirled together, all while being accompanied by a powerful ache in her upper body.

B'Elanna heard shuffling sounds. She tried to sit up, but some form of restraint bound her to the cold metal table.

She frowned and began to struggle. "Help me! Somebody! Miral!?"

But there was no answer until a flickering green holographic image appeared inches above her face. It was the same woman she had seen before. Except this time she no longer wore the Starfleet Uniform. This time, from what B'Elanna could see, she wore a long scarlet dress with a blackened trim. Silver earrings depicting talons rested on her pointed ears. Her charcoal eyes gazed at her with amusement, her carmine lips laced with a mocking venom.

"I see you have awakened, B'Elanna Torres."

"Who the hell are you?" B'Elanna glared. Rage began to boil in her chest.

"I am Commander D'Spal of the Romulan Star Empire. Let me be the first to announce what a pleasure it is to meet one of the Federation's greatest Engineers."

Romulans. She looked like a Romulan. "What have you done with my daughter, you sick freaks?!"

"Your daughter is in good hands. For now," she grinned darkly as another hologram shifted to life next to her own. "Allow me to introduce you to the _Serana_," as her words escaped her lips, a diagram of a vessel appeared on the second hologram. She had never seen the design before, but knew for a fact it was Romulan when she saw the Romulan sigil of the warbird wielding Romulus and Remus on the vessel's hull. "Unfortunately, the Serana is a garbage scow, and you, B'Elanna, are its Commander. We have heard a great deal of your exploits on Voyager. The Empire would like to put your abilities to the test."

An image of a flightpath replaced D'Spal's face as the diagram of the vessel zoomed in on the vessel's engines. B'Elanna's eyes widened as she realized that the vessel was on a direct route into the center of a sun.

D'Spal continued. "The Serana, as you can see, is on a nonstop all-exclusive journey into the near-by sun. The Serana's engines have mysteriously been locked on course and helm controls have all but been destroyed. Regrettably, you will also find the comm system unavailable for use. If you have any desire to see your daughter again, you will put your capabilities to the test. Succeed and you will see your daughter once more. That is all."

"Wait, you can't do this to me. How do I know she's even still alive? I'm not even familiar with Romulan ships! How do you expect me to do this?!"

The Romulan woman only smirked. "Do as all Federation engineers do, Lady Torres: make it work. Good day to you." And the channel closed.

The restraints suddenly broke free as B'Elanna felt herself sliding to the floor. Her head still ached with pain, but there were more important things to consider. First things first.

"Computer?"

A dull chime acknowledged her. A small wave of relief hit her.

"Where am I? And how long until we reach the sun?"

"You are on the Romulan vessel Serana - a class D freighter scheduled for decommission . Sensors offline - telemetry data unavailable. Last available scans indicate a collision course with an estimated time of arrival within two hours at one quarter impulse speeds"

She had no idea how long it had been since then and so B'Elanna began to assume the worst.

Before too long, B'Elanna lost track of time. By her best guess, it had been just under an hour since this ridiculous hell of a situation began. She had found her way to the Serana's Engineering bay. The ship itself was a piece of a garbage. Grossly out of date. The ominous Romulan warp care, a great green sphere locked between a charcoal grey pillar, glowed ominously at her from the center of the chamber. She ran for the nearest console and brought the vessel's blueprints back up on screen, but this time they were in Romulan, which of course she couldn't read a word of.

She ripped open a near-by maintenance hatch and climbed in. Before long, her civilian garment - a light and airy summer frock given to her by Harry Kim on her last birthday - was in tatters. She started pulling out power relays at random, questioning the Serana's flat, stoic male computer for answers in a game of a cause and effect. Her hands soon became burnt and bloody as another cascade of sparks blew across her palms, tearing another piece of Romulan garbage out from the ship's power grid.

"Computer... using the internal sensors, what is the current estimated temperature of the ship's external hull?"

"Unable to comply. Internal sensors are offline."

But the ship was getting hotter and the bulkheads slowly beginning to tremble. The sheer heat of the sun was no doubt starting to take its toll on the old Romulan ship. B'Elanna felt a moment's doubt streak across her chest. She was on an unfamiliar ship older than she was. And even if she succeeded, she'd be in the hands of some Romulan bitch who may have killed her daughter already. Klingon resolve aside, she felt like crumpling to the ground beneath a bulkhead to cry.

But she wouldn't let it come to that. Images of Tom and her daughter Miral flashed across her mind. She tried to reassure herself that she had been through worse. With Chakotay and the Marquis. With Captain Janeway in the Delta Quadrant. At least here, in the Alpha Quadrant, she had a chance. The road home was not as long, but no less dangerous.

"Computer, where are the plasma fusion chambers located?"

"Subjunction B, section 2."

She pushed herself out from the hatch and let her eyes run across the diagram of the Serana. She took a gamble, trying to logically decipher the Romulan mumbo jumbo, and set off in a sprint across the Engineering bay. She let her hands brush across each of the hatches until she found the one she was looking for, pulling it off to reveal what she immediately recognized as an ancient plasma infusion core. Devices which could be considered the valves of the heart per se. The instruments which channeled fresh plasma into the core and filtered spent energy outwards. Without them, a ship that relied so heavily on its core would shut down. Before long, the core itself could breach. And if the Serana went down, whatever the Romulans wanted with her would be lost.

She let herself grin through the grim and the congealed blood before wrenching her arms around it. She imagined thrusting her hand into D'Spal's busty bosom and ripping out her heart. And as she did so, the ship shook and the core went dark. The impact of her actions sent B'Elanna off her feet as any form of dampening field went offline - the very force which held the calm in the ship together vanishing. She felt herself swing over a railing, her sweaty hands slipping before slamming on to one of the consoles below. The inky blackness of the Romulan ship seemed to fade to white. Even the awful stench of warp plasma and garbage disappeared. And the last image she saw was of Tom and Miral, smiling at her from their French home.

"She has played her part," a woman's voice said. "Get her out of those rags and make sure she lives, Doctor."

"Of course, Commander. She has suffered some extensive trauma. I expect she will not wake for at least a day or two. But fear not, she is in good hands. And she is part Klingon. It will take more than a bump on the head to take this little one out." The male's voice was dry and raspy.

"Her head is all we care about. Proceed."

"As you wish, Commander."

---

**USS Titan : Alpha Quadrant**

"We are being hailed, Captain."

Captain Will Riker glanced over at the dark-skinned vulcan Tuvok. "From who?"

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "The cube."

From the depths of space, the USS Titan gently glided through an unusual gravimetric storm. It had battered their shields, but Riker had hoped it would veil Titan from the cube's sensors. His stomach plummeted as he realized he must have been wrong. The cube on screen was immense and ominous, itself hidden in the shroud of a huge green nebula, but even without the aid of sensors it was difficult to miss the enormous symmetrical metal vessel through the mists. "On screen."

His eyes widened at what he saw.

It was _**her**_.

Her ashen grayish skin glistened with moisture as her penetrating gaze met with Titan's entire bridge crew. Her presence alone seemed to emanate fear. Metallic tubules ascended from her skull, apexing into a blinking node at the back of her scalp while obsidian black armour protected all but her shoulders and above. She was morbidly beautiful. Queen of the bane that was the Federation's enemy. Bolts of green lightning shot through the Borg alcoves behind her. At least a dozen drones could be seen walking aimlessly across her chamber.

"Captain," her lips curled into a faint smirk. "Congratulations on your promotion."

"I would normally say you are in direct violation of Federation space, but I really don't see the point. What do you want?" Riker's voice was low and dangerous. A glare that would have normally put any green officer into his or her place seemed to have no effect on her. He didn't expect it to. But he felt the fear of every person on his bridge. Even as his Imzadi tried to steel herself, he felt a helpless in protecting her. Even Tuvok seemed to bristle at her presence.

"We have come with an offer. The Collective desires two things. One of which is the technology obtained from Admiral Janeway. Transphasic torpedoes and the impressive armour technology utilized by the USS Voyager prior to their return to the Alpha Quadrant. This data will be prepared and sent to us personally by Captain Picard. These are our terms."

Riker was not familiar with Voyager. He knew Voyager had returned with extensive modifications, including powerful weapons against the Borg, but most of this intelligence was sealed away by Starfleet Intelligence. "Borg aren't exactly none for diplomacy. You don't exactly have a reputation for being the most trustworthy of sorts."

She seemed amused by his words, her smirk broadening. "Take some time to consider our offer, Captain, but know this: the hour of humanity's assimilation has nearly ended. Humanity has proved more resistant than the Collective would care to consider and we are now in the process of considering alternative approaches. Much more aggressive approaches. It would be in the Federation's best interests to comply."

"Thanks, but if you know humans as well as you say you do, you should already know our answer to that."

"As I've said, Captain, take some time to consider. Your vessel is impressive. It would be a shame to lose it so soon after obtaining it."

Her image flickered out, abruptly replaced by the image of the cube within the mists of the green nebula. Just as Riker was going to speak, the cube itself illuminated with a brilliant flash - like a green firecracker exploding. The nebula itself seemed to ripple. "What the hell is going on?!"

Tuvok's announcement was urgent, but calm. "Incoming shockwave. Unknown composition."

Riker's eyes widened. "All hands, brace for impact! All available power to forward shields!"

A green ripple of energy laced its way towards Titan's hull, sending the ship shifting backwards like a powerful gust of wind to a ship in the sea. Titan's cerulean shields glowed and strained. Deanna felt herself grasping hold of her chair as the bridge shook.

And then it stopped.

Riker's XO, the blonde human woman Christina Vale was first to speak. Pushing herself from her seat, she glanced urgently towards Tuvok. "Commander, what the hell just happened?"

Tuvok glanced down at his console. "Reports coming in from all decks. Minor injuries on Decks four, six, and eight. No damage."

Deanna turned her gaze to the console integrated into her chair next to her husband, reading the reports Tuvok was receiving as the data was being transmitted to her. "Was that a warning?"

"It sure as hell felt like more than that to me," Riker took position next to his first officer and adjusted the creases in his uniform. "Commander Tuvok, I want a shipwide diagnostic. Scan every inch of her for anomalies. Christina, open a subspace channel to Starfleet command and have it ready in my office," he looked at everyone else, letting his eyes rest on Deanna a moment before nodding. "You have your orders!" He walked solemnly into his ready room, adjacent to the bridge itself.

---

**Starfleet Command : San Francisco : North American Continent  
Earth **

"Computer, one cup of Earl Gray Tea. Hot. And an even larger cup of coffee. Black."

Admiral Janeway gracefully slid the cup of tea across her desk before Captain Picard. She was accompanied by Dr. Beverly Crusher and Seven of Nine, neither which desired any beverages. "Well, let's hear it."

Picard slid the tea aside and placed both hands on the Admiral's desk. "Admiral, these signs. The voices I hear. They can only mean something is going to happen. The Borg are somewhere in the Alpha Quadrant. I can hear them."

Beverly interjected, cupping her hands together across her lap. "From a medical standpoint, what Captain Picard is stating is impossible, but we cannot ignore it either. Every molecule of Borg technology in Jean-Luc's body has been purged, but these... voices... have foretold Borg presences before. We shouldn't be any less cautious this time."

Janeway recollected similar encounters back on Voyager. Ominous messages sent from the Collective through Seven of Nine. It seemed reasonable with Seven, as she still had Borg technology embedded in her body. With a clean bill of health, she was more skeptical with Picard. "What do you think, Seven?"

Raising a brow and casting a skeptic glance at Beverly and Picard, Seven took an abrupt position at the view screen built into office wall. She tapped a series of quick, precise commands across the screen with a fingertip covered in a web of metal - one of few visible Borg implants she had left. "I accessed the Federation's sensor net across the Alpha Quadrant and detected no Borg vessels, however if the Federation's experience with the Borg has taught them anything, it is better to be 'safe than sorry'."

Beverly rested a hand on the side of her face, tapping at her cheek with a finger. "Where do we even start? If the Borg are somehow eluding our sensors, we have no real way to detect them. The Federation is short of vessels as is. We can't exactly scour the entire quadrant."

"Me. I can find them. I can hear them." Picard narrowed his eyes at Janeway, who returned the look with a glare as severe as his own.

A gentle chime interrupted them. Janeway looked down at the console on her desk. "Excuse me a moment," she glanced back up at the party before her a moment before turning her eyes to the transparent sheet of glass that slowly ascended from a crevice in her desk, quickly revealing the face of William Riker.

Picard wanted to exclaim, "Number One!" But he held his tongue.

"Admiral Janeway, this is Captain William Riker of the USS Titan. I'm afraid I have some grave news."

"I seem to be receiving a lot of that today, Captain. Report."

Every pair of eyes save those on Seven of Nine seemed to widen at the grisly news Riker seemed to share. The Borg Queen. The cube. The green nebula.

Janeway transfered the image to the wall console as Picard finally contributed his voice to the conversation. "She can't be trusted."

Seven of Nine's voice was icy. "Do not allow the Queen's human qualities to deceive you. Her objective is and always will be the pursuit of perfection for the Collective. Whatever promise of sanctuary she may offer to the Federation will be revoked as soon as she has what she wants."

Janeway nodded. "Agreed. Jean-Luc, I want you to return to the Enterprise. Rendezvous with Titan. Feel out the situation. In the meantime, I will contact Starfleet Intelligence and inform our allies to remain alert for any Borg incursions. I want to be kept up to date on this situation and will expect reports from both of you."

"Understood, Admiral." Both Riker and Picard nodded.

"Seven. Doctor Crusher. Report to the Enterprise. You are both familiar with Borg threats."

Seven gave Janeway a curt nod while Beverly felt slightly queasy. On one hand she felt delight to return to the Enterprise again, but the burden of another conflict with the Borg made her feel sick to her stomach. She had lost too many crew to the Borg. She didn't want to see another clammy-grey skinned corpse laid out across the bulkheads of the Enterprise. "All right. We've come a long way in fighting the Borg from a medical standpoint. Will, I'm going to send you some medical data. Tell your Chief Medical Officer to prepare the equipment."

And with that, Janeway was left alone in her office as the three went about their business. Worst yet, her coffee had gone cold. To some degree, she felt wrong in that she was not going with them.

Another chime echoed from her console and the face of an Ensign in the communication department appeared. "I am sorry to disturb you, Admiral, but I have Tom Paris on the line again. He says it's urgent."

She braced herself for more bad news...


End file.
